She charged boldly into the space of Miss Miniver’s rhetorical pause. “P. The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes. “Call it warning, if you like. Why? While the front of his mind was busy warning her not to fall into the hopeless miseries of underpaid teaching, and explaining his idea that for women of initiative, quite as much as for men, the world of business had by far the best chances, the back chambers of his brain were busy with the problem of that “Why?” His first idea as a man of the world was to explain her unrest by a lover, some secret or forbidden or impossible lover. Do you know what? You're some sea goddess and you're only fooling us. He did not care whether the stories were accepted or not. As soon as the latter beheld him, she uttered a loud scream, and fainted. I'm sure she'll let me go, though.
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